


Protection

by Nival_Vixen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Blood and Gore, Complete, Crazy Stiles, Derek Hale Protects Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapped Stiles, Killer Derek Hale, Killer Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mild Gore, Protective Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: Stiles protects people. Derek protects Stiles.





	Protection

"You've got no idea who I am, do you?"

 

The question isn't really a question, and the expression that accompanies the statement is far too smug considering the speaker is handcuffed.

 

"You have no idea what I do for a living either, do you?"

 

Again, it's not a question. The laugh that follows is sarcastic, mocking, and _cold_.

 

"People hire me for protection. I can tell what you're thinking: scrawny and fragile, and not much else, right?"

 

There's no response, but the silence is damning enough.

 

"Now you're wondering what kind of protection, because I'm obviously not the muscular type. That means I'm probably not security nor a bodyguard, so you've got to ask: what kind of protection can someone like _me_ provide?"

 

The silence that stretches out from this question is the type that _gnaws_ at people's minds, their imaginations going wild and projecting him into something larger than life itself.

 

He lets it linger a moment longer before continuing, "I'm the type of protection that you don't see, not until the last minute when I've got my knife against your throat."

 

The words are a threat more than informative and one of his captors stalks forward to gag him. They're far more scared than they'll ever admit; they've got some of the best hackers in the country and they can find sweet fucking A on this guy. It's as though he never existed. They're all wondering who he works for - CIA, FBI, some sort of Black Ops division that's too secretive to have an acronym - but no one dares to ask.

 

Considering this man killed four members of their team before they'd even had a chance to get near him - one shot was through a wall and into a busy and crowded restaurant, but their person was the only one harmed - they're afraid of the answer as much as the man himself.

 

He seems to know this, watches silently from behind his gag, and smirks - as though he's assessing each one and knows how long they have left to live - when anyone makes eye contact for longer than two seconds. Very few do.

 

...

 

The gag ruins his fun, really. He unlocked the handcuffs almost five minutes ago, but no one's noticed yet - mostly because they refuse to look at him - and Stiles is getting bored. There's a crackling sound, deep within his ear canal, and a voice talks to him calmly through his embedded ear piece.

 

"I'll be there in three minutes, Stiles. You know what to do if you need me."

 

Stiles wants to roll his eyes - _of course he knows what to do; this isn't the first time he's been used as bait_ \- but he refrains. Instead, he stares at one of his captors without blinking, barely stopping himself from laughing on his gag when they flinch back.

 

Another crackling sound informs him that it's time and Stiles almost sighs in relief. He brings his hands out from behind his back and pulls the gag out of his mouth. The motion draws the attention of his captors, but there's no time for more than a confused expression from them before Stiles is out of his seat and attacking.

 

A laugh escapes his mouth and Stiles breaks one captor's arm, grabs another's gun, shoots a captor in the chest, kicks out another's kneecap. They try their hardest, they really do, but they've never faced someone like _him_ before. He makes his way through the room in a dance with fatal steps and maiming motions until all of his dance partners are on the floor, some broken, most bruised, all bleeding, and a few dead. He makes sure they're all dead before he leaves the room, humming under his breath.

 

Stiles heads towards the noise he can hear further down the corridor. He grins broadly when he sees Derek fighting off three people at once, knives and all manner of sharp and pointy aimed at Derek, which is _definitely_ the _wrong direction_. Stiles slides into the fray, knocking out one with an elbow to the face, stealing the knife out of another's hand, and in a moment, he's back-to-back with Derek, bloody and sweaty and grinning.

 

"Took your time," Derek mutters as more people surround them.

 

Stiles just laughs. He steps forward, the blade flashing in the dim light. He steps back almost in the same instant, and there's a soft gurgling noise as one person drops dead, their throat bleeding and Stiles' new knife coated red.

 

The others retaliate in the same instant, eight rushing on two, and if anyone was standing back to watch, they could have been hypnotised by the way Stiles and Derek move together. They move with and around each other, flowing like water, dancing a dance that only they know the steps to. In a matter of minutes, they're the only two standing, both covered in spots of blood and breathing heavily.

 

"Okay, Der?"

 

Derek takes a moment to assess the damage and determines he's mostly bruised and scratched. "I'll live. You?"

 

"Nothing that won't heal," Stiles replies easily, reaching down to grab a gun.

 

The low shallow gasps that can be heard from some of Stiles' captors soon stops, and Derek watches as Stiles kills the last one - he's pretty sure the man's already dead, but they learnt the hard way to always double-tap. Stiles drops the gun by one of his captors, pulls off his blood-soaked gloves, and starts to rifle through the documents on a table - paper is harder to track, easier to destroy, and there's no digital footprint for their enemies to follow. Unless, of course, they _stupidly_ kidnap their enemy and bring them to their HQ.

 

"Ah, here it is," Stiles murmurs, then starts ripping up the paper and scattering it across the table. "Did you bring my lighter?"

 

"Of course. There's probably an accelerant in the cupboard," Derek says, seeing the bucket and broom symbol on the door.

 

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," Stiles replies, grinning as he heads to the cupboard. He returns with a bottle of bleach and empties it onto the table.

 

Derek throws Stiles' lighter to him, and the table's ablaze a moment later. They don't bother to watch the flames - the building's linked to the local fire department and they need to get out sooner rather than later - and they're out of the building before the automatic sprinklers are even turned on.

 

Back in their hotel room, Stiles washes the blood off his body, wincing when the hot spray hits one of the fresher cuts on his body. Derek knocks on the bathroom door and opens it a moment later, steam billowing out around his figure.

 

"I've let the client know they're safe," Derek says.

 

Stiles smiles over at him and holds out a hand for him. Derek smiles and pulls his clothes off before he joins him under the spray of water. The water runs red beneath them and Stiles pulls Derek close to kiss him.

 

"Thank you for coming for me, Der," Stiles murmurs against his lips.

 

"Always will. You protect people, and I protect you," Derek says, pressing kisses to his shoulder, careful of one of the purpling bruises on Stiles' skin.

 

They both know the lengths they'd go to save the other, and no matter what, they'd always protect each other.

 

...

 

The end.

Thanks for reading!


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